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16
Guess Who’s Coming to Make Dinner?
Allie
You know what’s worse than an angry Italian mother? A house full of angry Italians, which is what I’m trying to avoid. We’re having the feast to end all feasts, which means the kitchen has been packed with cooks since dawn. It also means that I’ve spent the bulk of the morning chopping, dicing, kneading, and cleaning, interspersed with excusing myself so I can sneak back upstairs to check on Frank’s progress and feed him new data. The crap part is that I promised my parents I’d take the day off, and they’re totally onto me. There’s only so many times a girl can say she’s got to run to the ladies’ room before her nosy relatives start to talk. The last time I went up, I came back to a whole lot of questions about a possible UTI, followed by several competing bits of advice about cranberry juice, cutting back on caffeine, and not sitting on cold pavement (as if that’s something I spend a lot of time doing). At this point, I’m pretty sure if I tell them I have to pee again, I’m going to be whisked off to urgent care to get checked for diabetes.
The doorbell rings just as I’m feeding another small batch of dough through the pasta maker. The sound of pounding feet floats into the kitchen, and I know in about two seconds my nephew Matteo and my niece Camilla are going to be in a full-on fist fight over who gets to answer it. Sure enough, shouting ensues, followed by Vinnie’s booming voice for them to “Knock it off and answer the GD door already!”
Here in the kitchen, Grandma makes a tsking sound and shakes her head at Lucia. “You need to tell Vinnie to stop taking the lord’s name in vain like that. He’s never going to get into Heaven like that.”
Zia Fernanda rushes in to save Lucia with, “He didn’t take the lord’s name in vain. He said GD as in gosh darn.”
“Still, I don’t like it.”
Matteo comes running into the kitchen. “Zia, there’s a man here to see you!”
“What man?” Fernanda asks.
“Not you, Zia,” he says, pointing to me. “Zia.”
The kitchen goes completely silent.
A man? To see me? Oh my God, it’s Hudson, isn’t it? No, it can’t be. He’s probably lounging in bed with a model-slash-beach volleyball champion, or worse, that awful Dr. Blaire who had the hots for him. But it could be Hudson, like, say, if he needs help applying ointment to his ankle or something. And I look … well, not awful actually. I showered this morning and I’m wearing a clean gray tee and my yoga pants that don’t have holes. Well, and this flowered apron complete with frills, but I’m hoping it’s a look. Before I can ask who it is, Hudson appears in the entrance to the kitchen, carrying a case of wine. Camilla follows him into the room and announces him in her loud little girl voice. “Zia Allie, that guy from the shark movie is here for you.”
Is my face bright red? Because it feels like it’s on fire. He’s smiling at me. Dimples. Gorgeous green eyes. Brain totally fried. Say something, dummy. “Hey, Hudson, what brings you by?”
Camilla answers for him. “He came to help.”
My jaw drops and I glance at her, trying to process what’s going on. “With what?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Ask him.”
“Right. Good idea,” I answer, turning my gaze to Hudson. “With what?”
“I knew you were really busy so I thought I’d offer myself up as a tribute in the kitchen for a few hours,” he says.
“Tribute?” Nonno, who is at the kitchen table playing cards with my dad asks. “What does he mean?”
“It’s a Hunger Games reference, Nonno,” Lucia tells him.
“Is he hungry? We got lots of food,” Nonno says, putting both hands on the table and standing up. “Maria, get out the mortadella. I’ll make him a sandwich.”
“Pops, he’s not hungry,” Zia Fernanda says. “He’s talking about a movie called The Hunger Games.”
“Well, it’s also a book,” I say, which really helps nothing at all. Turning back to Hudson, I say, “I’m sorry. Let’s try this again.”
Hudson grins, and when his dimples pop, I swear to God, you can hear the eggs dropping all around the room, even from the post-menopausal women among us. “Sure, as we say in the biz, take two. Hey, Allie, I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by. I was at loose ends today and I thought maybe I could take your place in the kitchen since I know how busy you are with your project.”
Oh my God, how is this happening right now? “Really? You came here to cook with my family?”
“Yeah, I know I won’t be able to do all the stuff you’d normally do, so put me to work peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots.” He sets the case of wine down on the floor. “Although that looks kind of fun,” he adds, gesturing to the pasta maker. “Are you making homemade noodles?”
Nodding, I say, “Uh-huh. But how’s your ankle and … everything? Should you even be up and around?”
Every set of eyes is on him as he walks over to me and I know they’re all hearing the melody of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” in their heads. Well, except for my dad, who’s scowling.
Hudson gives me a breezy grin. “I’ve never been better. In fact, I’m pretty sure that spider gave me superpowers.”
